


It Was Just My Imagination Telling Lies

by BreTheWriter



Series: Hold Me Like You'll Never Let Me Go [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Spoilers, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-06
Updated: 2014-05-06
Packaged: 2018-01-23 20:16:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1578110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BreTheWriter/pseuds/BreTheWriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony and Clint are desperate to find out if the people they care about are still alive following the emergence of HYDRA. They never expected who was going to come knocking at their door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Was Just My Imagination Telling Lies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [silvertempest](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=silvertempest), [purpleyedemon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/purpleyedemon/gifts).



> So this kind of got away from me. I really didn't expect it to get as long as it did. Anyway, it tallies with everything that has happened in the MCU (including Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.) through "Nothing Personal" (aired April 29). I realize that tonight's episode is probably going to blow it all to hell, but...well, that's why I'm posting it now.
> 
> The title, by the way, is from the song "Tell Me I Was Dreaming" by Travis Tritt.

            Tony Stark rested his elbows on his desk, burying his face in his hands. His hair stood up on end, there were dark circles under his eyes, and if his head hadn't been pressed into them, his hands would probably have been shaking—they had been for the last few days.

            Right about now, he really wished he hadn't quit drinking.

            "Tony?"

            At the quiet voice, Tony started up and turned. Clint Barton stood in the doorway of his office, looking about as wrung out as Tony himself felt and carrying a steaming mug in either hand. "Clint."

            Clint crossed over to him and set down one of the mugs. "You haven't slept since…”

            "I couldn't. I _can't._ " Tony's hands closed around the mug with faint gratitude.

            "I know. I can't, either," Clint confessed.

            Tony stared into the depths of his coffee—black, like the mood that had settled over both of them. "I should have _known,_ dammit," he muttered.

            "No reason why you should have. I, on the other hand…"

            "No, don't blame yourself. You're only—what, Level Six? This…this was something that was all the way up in the upper echelons." Tony looked up quickly. "You couldn't have known."

            "But I should have," Clint repeated. He stared at the screen in front of Tony, but somehow his eyes didn't seem to be focusing on it. "I know—knew—all those people. Worked with them for years. I should have known there was _something_ under the surface."

            "Did you even know who HYDRA was before…all this?" Tony gestured violently at the screen.

            Clint turned sharply and glared at Tony. "Of _course_ I knew who HYDRA was. Is, I guess I should say. I might not have been the son of a man who fought them, but you forget, I dated the world's biggest Captain America fanboy."

            Tony turned back to look at the screen, unable to disguise his look of pain. "It's still all my fault. I had the information, all this time…I just never looked."

            Clint didn't say anything, but he reached over and gripped Tony's shoulder tightly. Tony covered the hand with his own absently, understanding what the blond was trying to convey.

            Before the Battle of New York, Tony had, on a lark, broken into S.H.I.E.L.D.'s mainframe (well, he hadn't really _broken in_ , per se, they'd given him access, but not to the extent he'd gone) and copied most of their files to one of his redundant data archives. And then subsequently forgotten about it. About a week ago, however, he'd come across them again. He hadn't perused them for fun at that point—it had been for serious research.

            Back in November, Natasha Romanoff, a.k.a. Black Widow, had contacted Tony asking him to do her a favor and scrape Clint off a barstool a few hours from his Malibu home. They'd tentatively established a friendship when Clint sobered up the next morning, and now, nearly six months later, Tony counted Clint among the very short list of people he would willingly lay down his life for, the other two being Rhodey and Pepper. They'd been trying to track Natasha down, to let her know that Clint was okay and to make sure that _she_ was okay, but she'd gone off the grid, and Clint's Level Six status with S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn't enough to access her files anymore.

            When he'd found the backup archives, his initial thought had simply been to get a starting point to look for Natasha. Obviously, it wouldn't tell him where she'd been since he accessed those files. But then he'd started noticing little things, tiny, tiny red flags, and had forgotten Natasha, digging deeper. And then came the day the puzzle pieces fell into place, the day he knew for sure.

            He'd been running to call Fury when the universe went to hell around them.

            HYDRA. A criminal organization dedicated to terrorism and world domination; not unique, unfortunately, but difficult to destroy. Tony had always believed it had been destroyed in the days following World War II. Most people had. Including most of S.H.I.E.L.D.

            At least…those members of S.H.I.E.L.D. who weren't secretly HYDRA agents themselves.

            Because HYDRA wasn't gone. It was still very much alive, buried within the organization that Tony's father had helped found. And three days before, they'd come out of hiding. They'd tried to take over three helicarriers that Tony had helped redesign, to destroy anyone they perceived as a threat, anyone who wouldn't fall in line with HYDRA's vision for the world. They had failed…but in failing, they had taken a lot of good men and women with them.

            Including, Tony and Clint had been dismayed to learn, Nick Fury himself.

            Tony was surprised at the genuine anger and sorrow he felt over Fury's death. They had an adversarial relationship, sniping at one another constantly. Fury took umbrage, naturally, to Tony's insolence; Tony had chafed at Fury's authority. But deep down, Tony had a great deal of respect, even affection, for the man. And learning that he had been killed, that he'd been shot and blown up by a man they called the Winter Soldier, had hit Tony harder than he had expected.

            He'd spent the last three days frantically trying to track down anyone and everyone he knew in the organization. Not to find out what was going on. He no longer cared what was going on. To find out if they were alive.

            "Did you…" Clint's voice came as if from a great distance.

            Tony pulled himself together, took a sip of coffee, and looked up at Clint, who had perched himself on the edge of Tony's desk. "I still can't find Natasha."

            "I just saw her. She's fine." Clint spoke dully. "She was giving a press conference…you know she released all of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s confidential files to the general public? Including her own past."

            "I'll have to look at them later," Tony said absently. "There must be files I'm missing."

            Clint actually smiled, briefly. "Never change, Stark." The smile disappeared, however. "The others?"

            "Maria Hill works for Stark Industries now—Pepper called to tell me right after she hired her. She'll be working directly with Pepper." Tony ran a hand through his hair. "Banner's fine, hadn't even heard what was going on, but now that he does he promises he'll be careful. Thor's still in London with his astrophysicist. I talked to her, not him, and she was absolutely furious but promised she'd keep him from doing anything _too_ stupid, for now. Rhodey, who may not have been involved with S.H.I.E.L.D. but was probably still in danger, is fine." He hesitated. "I can't get hold of Cap."

            Clint closed his eyes for a second. "Thank God Phil isn't here to see this. It'd kill him."

            "Probably more slowly and painfully than a Chitauri scepter through the chest," Tony agreed.

            "His whole life was in this organization. To see it destroyed...to watch it rot from within…” Clint shook his head. "Is there any way you can check up on a couple more agents?"

            "I can try." Tony turned back to his screen, glad to be able to do _something_ other than brood. "Who'd you have in mind?"

            "Two of 'em. Sharon Carter—young chippie, grand-niece of Peggy Carter—last I heard, she was living in Cap's apartment complex, kind of keeping an eye on him. The other's Victoria Hand."

            "Hand I know. Level Eight, right? Dark hair, horn-rimmed glasses, swooned over Thor a lot?"

            "That's her. She and Phil were pretty tight. I doubt she's HYDRA, but…"

            "Oh, yeah, that reminds me," Tony said as his fingers flew over the keyboard. "Remember Sitwell? The bald one, the dickhead? He was HYDRA. Reported KIA on the DC freeway. Apparently the Winter Soldier literally ripped him out of the backseat of a car and flung him into oncoming traffic."

            "I don't know who this Winter Soldier guy is, but I'm starting to root for him." Clint smiled, tightly and painfully.

            "Well, I don't know either, but… _technically_ he's a bad guy. I'm not ruling out brainwashing, though." Tony paused and looked up at Clint, suddenly serious. "If we find him, you guys can swap horror stories, maybe."

            "Maybe," Clint said softly, rubbing his shoulder reflexively.

            Tony kept digging, using every trick at his disposal. Finally, he sat back. "Sharon Carter's joined the FBI. Guess she can't keep out of the homeland security biz. Victoria Hand was alive as of three days ago. She's still S.H.I.E.L.D."

            "How can you tell she isn't HYDRA?" Clint didn't sound accusing, just curious.

            "Absent a lot of the little markers," Tony said, swiveling in his chair to face his friend. "Among other things, she's got a few disciplinary notes. The ones who worked for HYDRA all had exemplary records, not a scratch on them. Like they were trying too hard to prove their loyalty. Not that everyone with a perfect S.H.I.E.L.D. record is HYDRA, just that the evidence of having snarked off to authority, for example, proves loyalty to the organization."

            "She was one of the few people Fury came close to trusting," Clint said quietly. "I wouldn't say he trusted her completely, or anyone at all, for that matter. But she came close."

            Tony sighed, leaning back in his chair. "I just wish…"

            He didn't finish the sentence, but Clint seemed to understand. "Yeah. Me, too."

            They sat in silence for a moment. Finally, Tony said, "I opened up the invitation for the other Avengers to come stay here if they need to. Banner said he'd think about it. Thor's probably not leaving London for a while. The invitation will stand for Tasha and Cap, too, if I can ever _find_ them."

            “I don’t know that they’ll take you up on it, but…” Clint trailed off.

            Tony understood. “I think they feel pretty responsible for what happened to Fury. After all, they were working pretty closely with him.”

            “I still can’t believe Tasha just put everything out there for everyone to see. Like, did she _realize_ that puts her record out there, too?”

            “Of course she does,” Tony said, surprised that Clint would even think that was an issue. “But she made the sacrifice for the good of the world. She’s a hero. That’s what they do.” He paused. “That’s what _you_ do, I guess I should say.”

            “That’s what _we_ do,” Clint corrected him, almost smiling. “You’re a hero, too.”

            “I’m not a hero. I’m just a big man in a suit of armor,” Tony said, the same almost smile on his face. It was painful to recall that conversation, because while he’d come back with a snarky comment about being a _genius billionaire playboy philanthropist,_ he knew in his heart of hearts that Cap was right—he wasn’t a hero, he wasn’t _anything._

            “Hey.” Clint grabbed his forearm, absolutely serious as he stared at Tony intently. “You sacrificed yourself to save Manhattan by catching that missile. You destroyed almost every single one of your suits trying to stop the Mandarin—Pepper told me about that, last time she was here.”

            “Yeah, but—” Tony began. He hadn’t done anything _since_ then, since destroying his suits and throwing the arc reactor into the sea. Without his suits, he really was just an ordinary man.

            “And you saved me,” Clint interrupted, softly but earnestly. “You’re on the wagon, Tony, you know how dangerous going into a bar is for a recovering alcoholic. You risked a hell of a lot going in there after me. But you did it anyway. You gave me a place to stay, and you never had to do that—you could have just gotten me out of the bar, waited for me to sober up, and then kicked me out the door. But you didn’t.”

            “That’s not being a hero,” Tony protested. “That’s being a friend.”

            “Who’s to say you can’t be both? A hero isn’t judged by the size of his strength, but by the strength of his heart.”

            “You totally stole that from _Hercules,”_ Tony accused him.

            Clint didn’t look in the least bit ashamed. “It’s still true.”

            Tony gave his friend a half-smile. “Thanks. You know, having you here has helped me, too. With Pepper working so much, Rhodey busy with the military, and now this…” He gestured at the screen, where the news reports about HYDRA were still popping up with frightening rapidity. “I’d probably have backslid if I didn’t have you here to anchor me.”

            “Hey, that’s what friends are for.”

            The two men lapsed into silence, staring at the screen as they sipped their coffee.  Finally, Tony said, “I’ve been thinking about going back to New York. To the tower. Thinking of changing the name.”

            “You’re not gonna call it Stark Tower anymore?”  Clint raised an eyebrow. “What would you call it, then?”

            Tony looked up at Clint seriously. “What do you think of the name ‘Avengers Tower’?”

            Clint’s mouth fell open. He didn’t seem to know what to say. Before either of them could say anything further, however, J.A.R.V.I.S. spoke. “Pardon me, sir, but a car has just come up the drive.”

            Tony frowned. He wasn’t expecting any visitors, and if either Pepper or Rhodey were driving up, J.A.R.V.I.S. would have recognized their cars and informed him _whose_ car had just come up the drive. “What kind of car?”

            “It appears to be a 1962 Corvette, sir. No top, cherry red, California license plate 681-PCE.”

            Clint turned pale. “Lola?”

            “Who?” Tony frowned.

            “No…Lola is the name of the _car._ Maybe. It’s just…Phil had a car like that. Same plates and everything.” Clint swallowed. “I don’t know what happened to her after he…died, but…”

            The buzz of the doorbell cut off Tony’s next question. J.A.R.V.I.S. announced, “There is a young woman at the door, sir.”

            Tony hesitated. He flicked a switch, which connected him to the external camera feed. It gave him a clear view of the young woman at the door. She was maybe in her early twenties, with wavy brown hair, an elfin face, and a black leather jacket, and she was alternately shifting her weight from her toes to her heels and looking anxiously over her shoulder. “She look familiar to you?” he murmured to Clint.

            “No,” Clint murmured back. “Never seen her before in my life.”

            Flicking another switch, Tony spoke. “Can I help you, miss?”

            “I’m looking for Clint Barton?” The woman’s voice lifted slightly at the end of the sentence, the inflection clearly indicating a question.

            Clint looked absolutely bewildered. Tony glanced at him, then said, “Okay, and…?”

            “And…is he here?”

            “Who wants to know?”

            “I do. And my friend.”

            “Your friend,” Tony repeated, tensing. “And who might that be? For that matter, who might _you_ be?”

            “You wouldn’t know me,” the woman said. She sounded perfectly confident, but as she crossed her arms, Tony noticed that her hands were shaking slightly. “My name wouldn’t mean anything to you.”

            “Let me be the judge of that, sweetheart.”

            “I’m not your sweetheart,” the woman snapped.

            “Then give me a name. Something else to call you.”

            The woman hesitated. “It’s Skye.”

            “Skye what?” Tony asked, already turning to his screen.

            “Just Skye. Look—”

            “Okay, Just Skye. And why do you think I know where Clint Barton is?”

            The woman had finally located the camera. She stared into it defiantly. “Maria Hill told me you might.”

            Tony and Clint looked at one another. Keeping his voice as level as possible, Tony said, “How do you know Maria Hill?”

            The woman reached into her jacket and held up a badge, irritation clear on her forehead. Tony’s heart gave a stutter at the familiar eagle enclosed in a circle, the words too small to be read but obvious. “Level One S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. Is Agent Barton here?”

            “Hold on a minute, Agent Skye.” Tony flicked off the external voice feed and resumed what he’d been doing.

            To his surprise, he found Agent Skye’s file fairly quickly in the recently-released database. She had only just become an agent before S.H.I.E.L.D. was destroyed. Before that, she’d been part of something called the Rising Tide. Like him, she’d been a S.H.I.E.L.D. consultant of sorts, working with a team. Tony pointed to the names that popped up. “Any of these names mean anything to you?” he asked Clint.

            “Yeah,” Clint said, his eyes widening. “Agent Melinda May is a legend in S.H.I.E.L.D.—they call her the Cavalry. Phil worked with her when they were younger. And Agent Grant Ward—I never met him, but once upon a time, they were talking about adding him to Strike Team Delta.”

            “So can we trust her?”

            “I would say so.”

            Tony nodded and flicked the switch back on. “Come on up, Agent Skye. Get in the elevator—it’ll bring you right up.”

            “Copy that.”

            Tony turned off both the intercom and the camera feed, then turned back to the screen and resumed scrolling through the file. Clint leaned over his shoulder to read as well. Skye—no last name given—had grown up in an orphanage under the name Mary Sue Poots, poor kid. She had joined the Rising Tide and been something of a thorn in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s side until joining this team as a consultant. There was a string of missions she had assisted with, an example of “known subversion,” and ample proof of her having made up for said subversion. She’d been wounded in action—apparently quite severely—and finally made a full agent in order to coordinate a search for a villain known only as the Clairvoyant.

            “You’ve got an interesting history, Agent Skye,” Tony said without looking up when he heard the swish of the door behind him.

            “She does, doesn’t she?”

            Tony and Clint spun around in unison. The voice was _not_ that of the young woman who’d been at the door. It was, in fact, a voice neither of them could believe they were actually hearing. They _had_ to be mistaken.

            Standing just inside the elevator doors, looking weary and battered and _old,_ was a middle-aged man in a crumpled black suit. His sparse dark hair looked as though he’d run his hands through it in frustration or despair, and his eyes were simultaneously haunted and almost hopeful. Skye was just behind him, looking both nervous and a little confused, but neither Tony nor Clint could focus on her. They simply stared, speechless, at the man.

            Finally, Tony broke the silence, his voice cracking with surprise and disbelief. “Coulson?”

            Agent Phil Coulson’s lips quirked up in a sad attempt at the slight half-smile Tony remembered so well. “I’ll assume Maria didn’t pass on my greetings. Not that I really expected her to, but…you know.”

            He was speaking to Tony, but his eyes never left Clint. Tony glanced up at his friend. Clint’s face was completely devoid of color, his eyes wide, his jaw hanging open slightly. He seemed to be having difficulty breathing, nor did he seem able to move.

            At last, he spoke in a small, soft voice, somewhere between a whisper and a whimper. “Phil.”

            In the blink of an eye Clint and Coulson had both rushed forward and thrown their arms around one another. Tony could see that Coulson’s eyes were tightly shut, but he could also see the tears squeezing out of the corners. He felt a lump come to his throat at the sight.

            “Phil,” Clint said again, his voice raw with tears. “It’s you…it’s really you…”

            “Clint,” Coulson choked out. “Clint, I’m sorry…God, I’m so, so sorry…”

            “You’re alive, nothing else matters… _Phil…_ ”

            Tony felt tears stinging his eyes. He remembered well what it had been like to think he’d lost Pepper and find out he was wrong—and that had only been for about twelve minutes. Clint had believed Coulson dead for more than two _years._

            After a long moment, Clint pulled back, looking intently into Coulson’s eyes. “God, Phil…they told me you were dead…”

            “I know,” Coulson said softly. “I…kind of was. It’s a long story. But nobody was supposed to know I was still alive…you had to be Level Seven to know that. Well, except for my team—the ones who weren’t Level Seven had special clearance. Obviously.”

            “Your team?” Clint repeated. He glanced over Coulson’s shoulder as if just realizing Skye had come in, too, then looked back at Tony, and beyond him to the file still on the screen. “You—Agent May and—”

            “Yeah,” Coulson said, the half-smile returning, this time genuine. “We’ve…been trying to clean up some messes.” His smile disappeared. “And we’ve caused a few more.”

            Tony managed to stir himself into motion and got quickly to his feet. “Hey, Agent Skye,” he said with false brightness. “Why don’t I show you—rooms that aren’t this one?”

            “Uh—” Skye looked nervously at Coulson.

            Coulson hesitated, looking over his shoulder at Skye, then at Tony, then at Clint. Tony realized what was going on. Of course Coulson knew about HYDRA. Probably they’d come close to getting killed, because if Tony Stark was a threat to them—and he had it on fairly good authority that he was—then Phil Coulson certainly was. Skye was not only just a Level One agent, she was pretty young—young enough that she could have been Coulson’s daughter—and more importantly, she was part of his team. Tony well remembered that Coulson had even looked after _him,_ and they were almost the same age. Naturally he’d be protective of his team.

            “Or we could all go up on the roof,” Tony suggested. “This place is pretty secluded, and it’s not bugged, so nobody would know where we were. And if you two wanted privacy, you could have it while still making sure I don’t start teaching your agent bad habits.”

            “I like that idea better,” Coulson admitted.

            Tony led the other three up to the roof. He was surprised to note that it was after dark and the stars were out; he hadn’t realized just how late it was. It was a cloudless night, the moon was full, and all in all it was a beautiful night, the sort of night when Tony and Pepper (were she here) would have shared a bottle of sparkling cider in lieu of champagne and maybe danced a little. But tonight wasn’t about Tony and his lover, it was about Clint and his. They had their arms around one another’s waists and looked, if not happy, at least less miserable than Clint had been.

            Skye’s eyes were wide as she stared up at the heavens. “It’s so clear.”

            “No light pollution. Or at least not much.” On the horizon Tony could see the faint glow of the nearest city, but he turned away from it, directing his attention and Skye’s towards the west, towards the ocean. “Much as I love technology, sometimes it’s nice to come up here and avoid it for a while…mostly.” He noticed the lights reflecting on the sand in front of him. “Oh, yeah…J.A.R.V.I.S., shut off interior lights.”

            “Certainly, sir.” The illumination on the beach disappeared.

            “Where did that come from?” Skye asked, looking startled.

            “J.A.R.V.I.S. is an A.I.,” Tony told her. “He pretty much runs the house. And Stark Tower out in New York. And when I had the Iron Man suits, he helped run those, too.”

            Skye’s jaw dropped. She actually grinned. “That is _so cool!_ Oh, my God, Fitz would _love_ that…”

            “Fitz? Who’s Fitz?”

            “One of the agents on our team,” Coulson said, his voice still quiet. Then again, Tony had never actually heard him raise his voice. “He’s basically our technology expert.”

            “Well, if he’s looking for a job that doesn’t have to do with S.H.I.E.L.D., since from what I’ve gathered S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn’t exactly exist anymore, tell him to give me a call,” Tony said lightly.

            Coulson smiled slightly and shook his head. “Never gonna happen. Not unless you need a biochemist, too. And, for that matter, a computer genius, a combat specialist, and a slightly damaged middle-aged guy with serious trust issues.”

            “After what’s happened in the last week, I don’t blame you for having trust issues.” Tony moved automatically to the spot on the edge of the roof where he and Clint had, up until the whole thing with HYDRA, often sat and watched the sunset or, on one occasion, the setting moon.

            To his mild surprise, not only Skye, but also Coulson and Clint followed him. The four of them sat on the edge of the roof, Tony with his legs dangling, Coulson with one leg tucked under himself, and Clint and Skye with both legs crossed Indian style. The four of them sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the starlight and moonlight play over the ocean waves in the distance.

            Coulson was the first to break the silence. “When Maria told me you were here…I wasn’t sure what to think. Why _are_ you here?”

            Clint hesitated, glancing at Tony. Tony said nothing, merely returned the gaze, letting Clint know silently that he would support whatever story the other man wanted to tell, even if it was complete bullshit from beginning to end. Not that it would be. In the last six months, Tony had learned a lot about Clint Barton and his relationship with Phil Coulson, and he knew that Clint had never lied to Phil in his life.

            Taking a deep breath, Clint turned back to Coulson. “I…didn’t take losing you well, Phil,” he said softly. “After Nat told me, finally, I…kind of took a nosedive. I started trying to drink the pain away…never could get drunk enough to get you off my mind. Came damn near killing myself, as much as I was drinking…” He looked over at Tony. “That night you found me—how much did you say I’d had?”

            “Thirty-five whiskeys,” Tony said grimly.

            A horrified expression crossed Coulson’s face. “Clint—!” he whispered.

            Clint looked down at his lap. “Yeah, anyway…apparently someone at S.H.I.E.L.D. had me under surveillance. They sent Nat some pictures of me in various bars, anonymously, of course. She realized I was gonna be in Malibu and called Tony here. He got me out of there, brought me back here, looked after me until I sobered up.” He looked up at Coulson again. “I’m clean now, Phil, honest. Six months without a drink. Been going to AA and everything.”

            “My God, Clint,” Coulson whispered. “I…God, I’m so sorry. If I’d known…they’d have had to bind and gag me to keep me from calling you.”

            Clint reached up and touched Coulson’s cheek gently. “What _have_ you been doing? I mean…you weren’t really dead, so where were you?”

            Coulson hesitated, glancing over Clint’s shoulder. Tony raised his eyebrows. “You want me to go?”

            “No,” Coulson said slowly. He shook his head. “No, you might as well know, you’d probably figure it out anyway—you’ve got access to just about every file S.H.I.E.L.D. had before the Battle of Manhattan.”

            “I’ve got access to every file S.H.I.E.L.D. had _after_ the Battle of Manhattan, too,” Tony pointed out. “Don’t you watch the news?”

            “Not really. Too busy trying to survive. What are—” Coulson checked himself. “Never mind.” He turned back to Clint, his expression softening. “Clint…I _was_ dead. I don’t know how long it was for. Hours. Days. Maybe weeks. Fury brought me back.”

            “He brought you—” Clint went rigid. “How?”

            “We’re still…kind of figuring that out. There’s a lot of really crazy stuff involved and…part of the process involved altering my memory. Which was largely to keep me from going completely insane.” Coulson’s smile looked a little strained, and he didn’t attempt to hold it long. “But…ever since I came back, recovered, whatever, we’ve been setting up this team. Like I said, trying to clean up some messes. We were part of the clean-up team in London after Thor destroyed half of it trying to save the rest of it. Found a Chitauri artifact a bunch of firefighters picked up in New York after the Battle of Manhattan and figured out how to neutralize it. Found an 0-8-4 in Peru. That kind of thing.”

            “An 0-8-4?” Tony said, frowning slightly. He’d understood everything else.

            “Object of unknown origin or significance,” Skye said.

            “And since HYDRA came out of hiding?” Clint pressed. “What have you been doing since then?”

            Coulson suddenly looked old and tired again. “Picking up the pieces. Watching them fall apart again. Feeling like I’m losing part of myself every time.”

            “Want to be a little more specific?” Tony prodded. He wasn’t trying to be callous—he was genuinely worried about Coulson. “What’s going on? Anything we can do to help?”

            “Probably not.” Coulson closed his eyes, bowing his head. “One of my team turned out to be HYDRA.”

            “What?” Clint whispered.

            Tony’s mind ran down the list of people Skye’s file had listed her as working with, compared it with the somewhat sardonic assessment Coulson had given them. He’d noticed, in a kind of distant fashion, that he’d only mentioned five people, while their team had six. “Agent Ward?”

            Coulson’s head snapped up. “How the hell did you know that?” he demanded.

            Tony held up both hands quickly. “When I mentioned offering your Fitz a job, you told me I couldn’t have him unless I also took the rest of your team, but you only listed four people, one of which was you. Skye’s file mentioned four other agents on the team she’s been working with, _none_ of which were you. And Clint had only heard of two of them, May and Ward. He said that May was a legend in S.H.I.E.L.D., and that Ward had been briefly considered for Strike Team Delta, so one of them had to be the ‘combat specialist’ you mentioned. Since Clint said you and May worked together when you were younger, the balance of probability was on her being pretty trustworthy. Therefore, the one agent you _didn’t_ suggest me hiring—the one who turned out to be HYDRA—was probably Agent Ward.” He looked from Coulson to Skye and back. “Am I right?”

            There was silence for a moment. Finally, Coulson nodded. “You’re right. Grant Ward is HYDRA. He’s been playing us all along.”  

            “The bastard,” Skye said softly.

            Tony turned to look at her and read the betrayal, the dismay, the utter dejection about her. “You were in love with him,” he guessed.

            Skye didn’t even bother looking offended or denying it. “Yeah. I was. And he _says_ he was in love with me—says he still is—but…” She trailed off.

            “But it might have all been a ruse, but he might have been trying to manipulate you into doing whatever it was he wanted you to do, but you don’t know if he’s even actually capable of love,” Tony completed. “I get it.”

            Skye hunched her shoulders. Coulson shook his head, looking fatigued again. “He stole the Bus. He kidnapped Skye to try and get her to decrypt a flash drive with everything we’ve collected since we started working together. When she outsmarted him and tried to get away from him, a guy called Deathlok—formerly Mike Peterson, long story there—recaptured her and threatened to kill him if she didn’t give them the encryption code.”

            “You’re a better person than I am,” Tony said, looking at Skye. “I’d have let the bastard die.”

            “No, you wouldn’t have,” Skye said, quietly but with conviction. “You’re a good person. You couldn’t have let someone suffer—even someone like _him._ ”

            Tony hesitated. “You’re probably right,” he admitted at last. “Mind you, I only said _probably._ I’ve never really been in that situation, so I couldn’t tell for sure.”

            “So now Ward—and consequently HYDRA—have information on everything you guys have been working on for months,” Clint said. “Also your—bus?”

            “It’s a pretty high-tech plane,” Coulson said with a faint smile. “And for the six of us, it’s been home for a while.”

            Tony instantly realized what Coulson was saying. “So where are you guys staying?”

            “Hotel between here and L.A.” Coulson sighed. “Speaking of…we should probably get going if we want to get a chance at sleep.”

            “The hell you should,” Tony said instantly. “This place is huge—I’ve got plenty of room.  You and your team can stay here as long as you need to.”

            Coulson looked up, surprised. “I can’t—”

            “You can,” Tony interrupted. “And you will. It’s cheaper than a hotel, and probably a lot safer, too.” He softened slightly. “I’ve already let you down once—I had all the information to figure out about HYDRA and I didn’t use it. Please, Phil, let me do something for you.”

            Coulson studied Tony for a long minute. At last he, too, softened. “I don’t know how I’m going to get everyone here in Lola, but I’ll try.”

            “Don’t worry about that, either. I’ve got a multi-seat vehicle in the garage. Seats five, I think, so either I’ll drive and Skye can come with me to tell me where I’m going, or you and Clint can go and I’ll stay here and make sure your rooms are ready. Your choice.”

            “Probably best if I go. Fitz especially is kinda jumpy right now.”

            “I wonder why,” Tony said dryly. “Clint, you know where the keys are, right?”

            “Right.” Clint stood, keeping an arm around Coulson’s waist. “We’ll be back.”

            “We’ll be here.” Tony smiled. “Drive carefully. Oh—and you might want to park—Lola, was it?—in the garage. You know, just in case anyone drives by looking for her.”

            “Good thinking,” Coulson admitted.

            Tony watched as they walked inside. Skye, too, kept her eyes on them. “Uh, Mr. Stark—”

            “Drop the ‘mister’ part,” Tony said, looking over at her. “Stark if you don’t want to be friends. Tony if you do.”

            Skye looked startled, then said tentatively, “Tony.”

            “Better.” Tony smiled. “What is it?”

            “Why are you offering us a place to stay? Really. I mean, yeah, you know Coulson—sort of—but you don’t know the rest of us from Adam.”

            “Coulson trusts you,” Tony said simply. “That’s good enough for me. As for why I’m offering you guys a place to stay, I was telling the truth before. I let him down once. I’m not going to let him down again. I honestly never would have joined the Avengers Initiative if he hadn’t asked me—I told Fury no about six times before Coulson asked. I’d never have admitted it to him before, but Coulson babysat me for a few weeks, just before Thor came to Midgard the first time, and I got to respect him. A lot. I’d have done just about anything he asked me, although not without a heavy dose of sarcasm and borderline insubordination. And I—don’t tell him, but I said some uncomplimentary things about him after he died—told Cap that I thought he was stupid for what he’d done. I didn’t really mean it. I was just…upset, I guess. Easier to be mad at Coulson for dying than to be mad at Loki for killing him…or myself for not being there to prevent it.”

            Skye bit her lips. “I can understand that, I guess. Like it was easier for Coulson to be mad at Melinda May for reporting to Fury than it was for him to be mad at himself for not seeing any of this coming.”

            “That sounds like a long story,” Tony said, getting to his feet and offering the young woman a hand. “Come on. You can tell it to me while we’re getting rooms ready.”

* * *

            Clint couldn’t stop staring at the man behind the wheel of the dun-colored SUV as they zipped along the deserted streets. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so happy—well, yes, actually, he could. Almost exactly two years before, when he’d had a little bit of free time from keeping an eye on the Tesseract project, and the two of them had been able to spend time together, one glorious night in each other’s arms, before their duties had forced them apart and the world had gone to utter shit.

            Phil was _alive._

            “I can’t believe how well this thing handles,” Phil said, a little distantly. “I mean, for such a big vehicle.”

            “Yeah, it’s a real mover,” Clint said, his voice feeling rusty. “Tony built it himself. Fifth gear is flight, if you’re so inclined.”

            “Maybe on the way back.” Phil glanced over at Clint. “Tony. Since when are you guys on a first-name basis?”

            Clint bit his lip, hearing the faint texture of jealousy. “Since he saved my life six months ago. Like I said, he got me out of that bar, he kept an eye on me while I was sobering up, and when I finally woke up, he was…there, you know? I needed someone to talk to and he was willing to listen.”

            “Why not Natasha?”

            “I was still kind of mad at her,” Clint admitted.

            Phil looked at Clint again, a puzzled frown on his face. “Why would you be mad at her?”

            Clint looked down at his hands. “She—she didn’t tell me you were dead. Before. You know, when Loki killed you, I was…I was still possessed by the Glowstick of Destiny.”

            “The what?”

            “Uh, sorry, that’s what Tony called it—I don’t know if it ever had an official name, but, you know, that spear thing Loki had?”

            “The one he stabbed me with?” Clint could hear the sarcastic smile in Phil’s voice. “Yeah, I kind of remember that. But—how long did that last? I mean…Fury told me you were, um, un-possessed in time to help with the fight.”

            “Yeah, I was,” Clint agreed. “Tasha hit me over the head and knocked me out, but when I woke up, she’d jogged me loose from the possession, I guess.” He took a deep breath. “I—I asked her how many agents I…and she cut me off and told me not to think about it, she said I wasn’t myself, and I believed her. She had plenty of time to tell me about you, but she didn’t. I remember wondering why you didn’t come to see me, but I figured you were just busy…after all, there was a war going on, and our jobs always had to come first, I knew that. And then after the battle was over, before Thor took Loki back to Asgard, we went for shawarma…”

            “I’m sorry, what?” Phil said with a soft laugh. “The world’s falling in ruins around you and you guys went for _shawarma?_ ”

            “It was Tony’s idea,” Clint said, unable to keep from laughing a little, too. He looked up and was relieved to see that Phil’s amusement was genuine. “He’d made some comment about us going for shawarma after the battle, and…well, we were all starving afterwards anyway, so I guess we all figured, why not? Then Thor took Loki back, and Tony drove Banner to the airport so he could head back to New Delhi. Natasha and Rogers and I were waiting for transport back to D.C., and I…” He swallowed again, his smile vanishing. “I said something like…’Aw, man, I forgot to pick up extra shawarma for Phil, nobody tell him we went without him.’ And Rogers just looked at me with this…this pitying look. I asked what happened, and then he looked surprised and said, ‘No one told you?’

            “I, uh, I started panicking. All I could think of was that you were hurt, really badly hurt, and God help me, I was terrified that _I’d_ been the one to hurt you and that was why Tasha had told me not to think about how many agents I’d taken out. I started firing off questions as fast as I could get them out of my mouth—what happened, were you hurt, how bad was it, where had they taken you. Natasha just stared at the ground. And then Rogers just said in this quiet voice, ‘Loki stabbed him through the back, Barton. He’s dead.’”

            “Oh, God,” Phil whispered. He stared at Clint, his mouth open slightly, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “God, Clint, I…” He swallowed hard, reached over, and gripped Clint’s hand tightly. “I’m so sorry. What—what did you—?”

            Clint laced his fingers through Phil’s and squeezed back, reveling at the simple sensation of having Phil’s hand in his once more. “I was numb at first. I don’t remember a whole lot of the trip back to DC. But once we were back at the Triskelion, I practically broke down Fury’s office door and demanded to know where you were. He—” His voice broke slightly. “He…actually looked kind of upset. Not angry, just…upset, you know? Like he might actually start crying too. He didn’t answer for a minute, then he took me down to the morgue himself, so I could say goodbye. But—your body was already gone. Agent Meriden—remember her?—said there’d been orders and someone had already taken you away to get you ready, that there were orders for cremation.”

            “Cremation?” Phil said incredulously.

            “I know. I…probably would have said something about that, I know how you feel about that, but…I collapsed,” Clint admitted in a low voice. “Woke up in the hospital. Fury had insisted I be under a doctor’s care until they were sure I’d recovered from both the possession and the shock, and Victoria Hand sat there pretty much the whole time and made sure I didn’t move without permission. By the time they let me go…it was too late for me to have done anything.”

            “Clint,” Phil murmured. “I…”

            Clint squeezed his hand again. “Anyway, that’s…kind of when I completely lost it. I wound up at the nearest bar, and I drank until I passed out, and then the next night I did it again. I moved on to another bar the next night, and…hell, I don’t know, Phil. I basically spent a year and a half drinking my way across America. Drinking until they threw me out, then staggering around until I either found a cheap motel or passed out in an alley.”

            “You idiot, you could have gotten _killed_ doing that.”

            “I didn’t care. That was the thing. I honest and truly didn’t care if I lived or died anymore. All I cared about was that I’d lost you. I’d lost you and I wasn’t there. I never got the chance to say goodbye.” Tears filled Clint’s eyes. “I—I let you down, Phil. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

            “You don’t need to be sorry, sweetheart,” Phil whispered, squeezing Clint’s hand tightly. “I’m sorry. I should have called you, Fury be damned.”

            “I’d have thought I was hallucinating,” Clint admitted. “I saw you so many times in my dreams…heard your voice…I wouldn’t have believed it was really you. Not until I sobered up, and that wasn’t until back in November.”

            “That’s…about when I started realizing that there was something going on,” Phil said slowly. “When I started realizing that maybe I’d been dead longer than I thought, that I hadn’t really been in Tahiti.”

            “Tahiti?” Clint repeated, frowning. “Wasn’t there some project you were working on called T.A.H.I.T.I.?”

            “Yeah—wait, you knew about that?”

            “Phil, you _told me_ about it.” Clint stared at Phil. “You said it was a side thing to the Avengers Initiative, but you wouldn’t tell me what it involved. You just said it was a—what did you call it? An insurance policy. You mean you don’t remember?”

            “I told you, Clint, they had to mess around with my memory to keep me from going nuts,” Phil said grimly. “I only found out earlier tonight that I’d even been involved with Project T.A.H.I.T.I. at all. And I recommended to Fury that the program be dropped because it was having undesirable side effects on the test subjects. I don’t know how they kept me from developing those side effects, but…that’s why Melinda May was reporting back to Fury on me, I guess.”

            “I guess,” Clint said softly. “God, Phil…”

            “It doesn’t matter right now.” Phil turned to Clint and smiled—a real, genuine, loving smile. “We’re together again.”

            Clint smiled back. “How’d you know I was with Stark, by the way?”

            “Maria Hill told me. I left the rest of the team back at the hotel and asked Skye to come with me so I—damn,” Phil said suddenly, thumping the steering wheel.

            “What?” Clint asked, alarmed.

            “I forgot about Trip. Uh, we sort of picked up an extra agent—he’s kind of part of the team, too. I just…forgot about him. He hasn’t been with us long. I guess he’s kind of taken Ward’s place.”

            “But you can trust him,” Clint said wryly.

            “Yeah. He protected Simmons at the Hub when HYDRA first came out from underground. And he didn’t know her and had no romantic designs on her. Still doesn’t. Which is good,” Phil added, “because I don’t think Fitz can handle any more betrayal.”

            “I take it Fitz and Simmons have a thing?”

            “I don’t think it’s official, but they’re incredibly close.”

            “Do these two have first names, or are they one-name-only like Skye?”

            “Leo Fitz and Jemma Simmons.  They’re just kids, really. And Trip is Antoine Triplett.”

            “I remember him,” Clint said, surprised. “Isn’t he Gabe Jones’ grandson?”

            “That’s him,” Phil confirmed. “And no, that’s not why I trust him.”

            “I didn’t think it was.” Clint smiled. “Anyway, trust me, we can squeeze four more people into this thing, no sweat. Even if someone has to sit on the floor.”

            They drove in silence for a while. Finally, Phil said softly, “You know we can’t stay more than one night, right?”

            Clint nodded. He wasn’t stupid, and as badly as he might have hoped Phil could stay with him…“Yeah, I know. You’ve still got a job to do. If you’ve got room on whatever vehicle you’re taking—”

            “No,” Phil interrupted. He gave Clint _that look—_ the one of loving concern. “I—I can’t risk your life on this one. This is personal.”

            “He hurt you,” Clint said quietly. “That makes it personal for me, too.”

            “I know.” Phil smiled slightly. “But…please, Clint. I need to know you’re safe. I promise I’ll come back when it’s all over, but for now…”

            He trailed off. Clint didn’t say anything for a few moments. On the one hand, now that he’d found Phil again, he didn’t want to let him go, didn’t want to let him out of his sight for fear he’d lose him again. On the other hand, when Phil asked him for anything, it was hard to refuse.

            “Just promise me you’ll be careful,” he said at last.

            “I promise, sweetheart.” Phil squeezed Clint’s hand again.

            The hotel was nicer than most of the ones Clint had stayed in during his wandering, but not as nice as the ones he’d stayed in with Phil. Despite the late hour, there was a small cluster of people standing off in one corner of the pool deck. Clint picked out a muscular black man with his arms folded, a petite but fit Asian woman leaning against the railing of the ladder, a young woman with a light-colored ponytail, and a young man pacing back and forth, obviously agitated.

            “Shouldn’t they be back by now?” he was saying, a musical Scottish lilt to his voice.

            “Calm down,” the other man said. “I’m sure they’re fine.”

            “But it’s so late. And we don’t know who’s out there. What if they—”

            “I’m here, Fitz,” Phil said, skirting the pool and heading towards them.

            The young man—Fitz, Clint guessed—relaxed, at least at first. “Sir.”

            The young woman tensed. “Where’s Skye?” she asked. Fitz started looking borderline panicky at the question, too, looking around anxiously as though she was hiding in the shadows.

            “She’s fine.” Phil smiled at the two younger agents. “Grab your bags, we’re staying somewhere else tonight.”

            “Everything okay?” the older woman asked quietly. It didn’t take much for Clint to figure out that this was the legendary Melinda May.

            Phil nodded. “Everything’s fine. Stark’s offered us a place to stay.”

            “Stark?” May repeated, frowning. “You told him—”

            “Yeah. I did. Skye’s back with him.”

            Fitz was already starting towards the hotel, the young woman who had to be Simmons in his wake. The other man, who was definitely Trip, started to turn, then caught sight of Clint. “Barton?”

            “Trip. Good to see you again, man.” Clint managed a half-smile.

            The two younger agents stopped, both looking apprehensively at Phil. Phil smiled reassuringly. “Guys, this is Agent Clint Barton. Clint, Agents Melinda May, Leo Fitz, and Jemma Simmons.”

            “Hi,” Fitz said softly.

            “Nice to meet you,” Clint said, sincerely.

            “Go get your things,” Phil said again.

            Trip joined Fitz and Simmons heading for the hotel. May already had her bag slung over her shoulder, and Clint wondered what was going on there, if she’d arrived late or been planning to leave. She looked from Phil to Clint. “How’d you get involved here, Agent Barton?”

            “I’ve been staying with Tony for a few months,” Clint explained. “S.H.I.E.L.D. hasn’t had any use for me since the Battle of Manhattan, and there wasn’t really anything on the East Coast for me to go back to…as far as I knew, anyway.”

            “But you’ve heard about HYDRA?”

            “Yeah…I do watch the news.”

            “It’s been on the news?” May asked, surprised.

            Clint nodded. “Natasha—Agent Romanoff—just did a press conference about it earlier today. She released all of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s files to the general public—”

            “ _What?_ ” Phil and May said in unison.

            “Well, she had to warn people about HYDRA somehow,” Clint pointed out. “She’s getting a lot of crap about it, but…I think it was officially sanctioned.”

            “It had to be,” Phil murmured. “To access those kinds of files would have required director approval…”

            He shook his head as the other three returned. “All right, let’s load up and move out.”

            Trip, Fitz, and Simmons squeezed into the seats; May ended up sitting on the floor at their feet, at her own insistence. Clint sat up front next to Phil. Simmons, obviously tired, dropped off to sleep before they’d even cleared the neighborhood, but the others were still awake when Phil pulled the column shift into the unmarked fifth gear and the car lifted off the ground.

            “Kind of like Lola,” May said, looking over the center console.

            “Howard Stark built Lola,” Clint said. “Tony Stark built B.E.C.K.A.”

            “The car’s name is Becka?” Fitz asked.

            Clint glanced over his shoulder. The poor kid looked like his whole world had been tilted off its axis—Clint could understand that. “It stands for Big Enormous Car Kept Aloft. B.E.C.K.A. for short. Tony names _everything,_ but he has to pretend it stands for something, so he’ll make up absolutely ridiculous acronyms. The A.I. that runs his house is Just A Rather Very Intelligent System—J.A.R.V.I.S.”

            “Oh,” Fitz said quietly.

            “It’s gonna be okay, Fitz,” Phil said softly, looking in the rearview mirror. “I promise.”

            From the way Fitz relaxed—completely, totally, and without hesitation—Clint knew that this team responded to Phil Coulson the same way Clint and Natasha always had. If Phil said it was okay, then it was okay. He would never lie to them, never break a promise. And even these kids knew that.

            It took less than half the time to get back to the Malibu house than it had taken to get to the hotel in the first place. Phil pulled the car neatly into the garage next to Lola. “Here we are. Everyone out.”

            The door opened before they even reached it. Fitz checked nervously, especially since it was empty. “How—” he began.

            “Hi, J.A.R.V.I.S.,” Clint said, stepping through the doorway.

            “Good evening, sir,” the A.I.’s voice responded with its usual courtesy. “I trust you had a safe journey.”

            “Perfectly, thanks.”

            Fitz forgot his fears in looking around for the source of the voice. Phil smiled slightly and mouthed _thank you_ in Clint’s direction.

            “Hey, there you guys are.” Tony came down the steps, Skye behind him. “Was starting to think I’d have to hijack the signals for the red light cameras.”

            “You can do that?” Trip asked, raising an eyebrow.

            “Oh, sure, no trick there,” Tony said dismissively. “’Course, they wouldn’t have done much good if B.E.C.K.A. was in the air, but…”

            “Meet Tony Stark,” Phil said to his team. “Stark, Agents Antoine Triplett, Melinda May, Jemma Simmons, and Leo Fitz.”

            Tony focused on Fitz. “How long are you planning to stay? Because Skye was telling me about some of your inventions, and I want to pick your brains. Especially about the D.W.A.R.F. drones—those sound impressive.”

            Fitz looked stunned—and a little flattered—but glanced at Phil, who shook his head. “We should be on our way in the morning. After all, we’ve still got work to do.”

            “Ah. Well, with S.H.I.E.L.D. in shambles, you need a home base, right?” Tony spoke casually, but Clint had come to know him pretty well over the last six months and saw the worry behind his front of nonchalance. “You guys are welcome here any time.”

            “I appreciate that,” Phil said, smiling slightly. But Clint knew him, too, better than he knew anyone else in the world, and he knew that Phil wouldn’t accept the offer. Not that he didn’t want to. But it might mean inadvertently putting Tony—and Clint—at risk, and Phil would never do that.

            “Come on, I’ll show you guys where you’re sleeping,” Tony said, turning back to the stairs. “Seriously, I’ve got more rooms in this place than I know what to do with. I don’t know why I built it with so many, especially since I hardly ever have visitors…matter of fact, last time I _did_ have visitors was when you were here babysitting me,” he added with a glance at Phil. “Right before you got pulled to New Mexico about Thor’s hammer, right?”

            “Right.” Phil’s smile was wistful. Clint knew that he, too, was remembering the time they’d been able to spend together.

            “What about him?” Simmons asked, gesturing to Clint.

            “Oh, he doesn’t count as a visitor. He lives here.”

            May’s eyebrows twitched upwards, but she said nothing.

            Tony and Skye had set up five rooms at the end of a hallway. As he directed the agents to the rooms, he explained, “The windows are double-thick, bulletproof glass, and anyway this end of the building overlooks the sea. I’ve got a really good alarm system, and that’s in addition to J.A.R.V.I.S. Believe me, nobody gets in this building without permission. One night or a hundred, you’ll be perfectly safe here.”

            As the last agent—May—moved to the doorway of her room, Phil said softly, “Thanks, Stark.”

            “Tony.”

            Phil started. “I’m sorry?”

            “Call me Tony.” Tony looked at Phil seriously. “I don’t have a lot of friends, but I definitely thought of you as one. And my friends call me Tony.”

            Phil stared at him for a moment, then slowly smiled. “And mine call me Phil.”

            Tony smiled in reply. “I didn’t set up a room for you—figured you’d rather stay with Clint here.”

            “You figured right.” Phil held out his hand. “Thanks, Tony. For everything.”

            “Hey, what are friends for, right?” Tony shook his hand. “’Night, Phil. ‘Night, Clint.”

            “Good night, Tony.” Clint slipped his hand into Phil’s and led him down the hallway.

            Clint’s room was on the other end of the hall, a comfortable, spacious room with a four-poster bed, a braided rug, and a window overlooking the forest, the curtains of which were currently drawn. No sooner had he shut the door behind him than he and Phil were in one another’s arms. Phil cupped Clint’s head, pulled him close, and kissed him, deeply and passionately.

            Clint responded, pouring every ounce of his love into the kiss, two years of loneliness and pain and heartbreak channeling into that single desperate act. He could feel the tears rolling down his cheeks and made no effort to stop them. When at last the need for air forced him to pull back, he saw that Phil was crying, too.

            “God, I’ve missed you,” Phil said hoarsely.

            “I’ve missed you, too.” Clint tightened his embrace. “I’ve missed you so damned much. When I first found out you were gone, I honestly didn’t know how I could go on living. And I…I kind of haven’t been. I’ve just been…existing.”

            “I don’t want to leave you again,” Phil confessed.

            “Don’t talk about it,” Clint whispered, tracing Phil’s lips with a finger. “Just shut up and kiss me.”

            Phil’s lips met Clint’s with almost bruising force. His hands slipped under the fabric of Clint’s t-shirt, roaming over his rib cage. Clint slid a finger under Phil’s necktie, loosening it with practiced ease. Phil moaned softly and Clint was lost.

            Two hours later, they lay on Clint’s bed, curled into one another, flushed and sated and completely relaxed. Clint rested his head on Phil’s chest; Phil ran his fingers absently through Clint’s hair again.

            “I love you,” Clint murmured.

            Phil stilled, which was understandable; usually Clint didn’t say those words. Ordinarily it was Phil who said them first, and Clint responded. But after two years apart, Clint needed Phil to know just how he felt.

            “I love you, too,” Phil replied at last, kissing the top of Clint’s head. “Get some sleep, sweetheart. I promise I won’t leave without saying goodbye.”

            “You’d better not,” Clint murmured. His eyes fluttered closed and, for the first time in two years, he drifted off into dreamless sleep, feeling safe and contented. Phil was there. Nothing else mattered.

* * *

            Tony and Clint competed, sometimes, to see who would be the first one to wake up in the morning. Tony didn’t expect to lose that morning, though. On those occasions when he and Pepper spent the night together—either because she flew out to California for the weekend or because he flew out to New York to attend one of the interminable meetings for the company he still, technically, owned even though he didn’t take an active hand in running it anymore—he slept deeply and heavily and usually woke much better rested than he did when he slept alone. And Clint was usually waiting in the kitchen when he got down, with a smirk on his face and three piles of pancakes on the table (Clint was a  _way_ better cook than Tony was).

            This was Clint’s turn. Clint and Phil would undoubtedly have made up for lost time, and even if they didn’t have sex, they would still be curled up together as long as physically possible, reassuring themselves that they weren’t dreaming, that the other _was_ there. Tony didn’t begrudge them a minute, especially since he knew damned well that Phil wouldn’t be staying. He and his team would be moving on, if not that day, then the next. As badly as Tony wished they would stay with him—where they would be safe—he understood.

            If he’d been Phil, he’d have done the same thing.

            He rummaged around in the refrigerator, wondering if he had enough eggs for eight people and whether or not everyone on the team even _ate_ eggs or if he should send out for delivery. He killed that thought in a hurry. Nobody was coming to this house without a _thorough_ background check, even just to the front door, until Phil and his team were gone.  They’d been hurt enough already. He couldn’t let anything else happen to them.

            “You have three simple muffin mixes in the cupboard, sir,” J.A.R.V.I.S. suggested helpfully. “I have already taken the liberty of instructing the oven to preheat.”

            “Thanks, J.A.R.V.I.S.” Tony reached into the cupboard and pulled out two of the red boxes—cranberry-orange and lemon-poppy seed—then read the instructions on the back of the box. _Milk, eggs, vegetable oil…_ ”Doesn’t look too hard. Where’s the—”

            “The vegetable oil is in the same cupboard as the mixes, sir. The large mixing bowls and measuring cups are in the cabinet to the left of the sink, and the muffin tins are in the drawer under the stove.”

            “What would I do without you, J.A.R.V.I.S.?” Tony was already getting the vegetable oil out.

            “An experiment I would not care to try, sir,” J.A.R.V.I.S. replied.

            Tony smiled. “Yeah, me, neither.”

            He was sliding the pans into the oven when he heard the first footsteps behind him. “Full pot of fresh coffee,” he said over his shoulder without looking. “Sugar’s in the blue canister next to it, there’s creamer in the ‘fridge. There’s also milk or orange juice if you’d rather have that.”

            “Oh…thanks,” came the soft reply.

            Shutting the oven door, Tony turned to see Leo Fitz reaching for one of the coffee mugs hanging on the rack next to the pot. He softened slightly as he watched the young man. Tony was an insomniac anyway, and HYDRA resurfacing had just made it all the more difficult for him to sleep, so the night before he hadn’t even bothered trying to go to bed and had gone instead for his lab. He’d destroyed all of his suits the December after the Battle of Manhattan, thrown his arc reactor into the sea, but now he needed _something._ Anthony Edward Stark possessed no extraordinary strength, no augmented fighting abilities, no preternatural weapons skills—nothing but his brain. Which, okay, was pretty impressive, but if Tony was going to help save the world—or avenge it—he needed to be more than just the man behind the curtain. So he was building a new suit.

            Fitz hadn’t been able to sleep either. J.A.R.V.I.S. had used a series of lights to guide Fitz up to the lab without disturbing anyone else in the house, and he’d suggested a couple of modifications to the weaponry that had impressed the hell out of Tony. They had ended up working and talking for several hours until they had both been surprised to find that they were actually tired. Tony had walked the kid back to his room, then crashed on his own bed and, for the first time since discovering HYDRA, slept without dreaming.

            “How’d you sleep, kid?” Tony asked, trying to sound nonchalant as he cleaned up the kitchen.

            “All right,” Fitz said, sounding faintly surprised. “You?”

            “Like a rock, for the first time in about a week.” Tony reached for the “official merchandise” Iron Man mug Rhodey had given him for Christmas as a joke two years ago. “You like muffins? They’ll be ready in about half an hour.”

            “I don’t eat much,” Fitz said softly. He cradled the coffee cup in his hands. “If you don’t have visitors often, why do you have so many coffee mugs?”

            Tony shrugged. “Saves me having to do the dishes too often. Actually, the truth is people keep _giving_ them to me. I swear to God, every Boss’s Day I worked at Stark Industries, I’d get about six of them.” He smiled a little. “Until my best friend gave me this one, my favorite was the one Pepper gave me right before I handed over the company to her. It’s a clear glass one that says ‘A-1 Asshole’.”

            Fitz smiled, a small but genuine smile, looking down into the depths of his mug. “And you still gave her the company?”

            “Honestly, that sort of thing is a big part of the reason I _did_ give her the company. She wasn’t afraid to stand up to me, and God knows I needed someone to stand up to me.” Tony took a sip of coffee. “I like what I’m doing now a lot better. Which is inventing stuff, testing it out, and occasionally doing PR for the company. And, you know, owning it. Pepper’s a lot better at the business side than I ever was.”

            “That sounds like the perfect job, except for the PR.” Either the coffee was making Fitz slightly more human, or the conversation was relaxing him. “I don’t like talking in front of people. I always make a fool of myself.”

            “It just takes practice is all.”

            “I don’t want to practice. The very idea terrifies me.” Fitz looked down again. “Sometimes I don’t think I was cut out to be a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. I’m not very brave.”

            “There’s all kinds of bravery, kid,” Tony told him. “It’s not all jumping out of planes without a parachute or shooting arrows at alien invaders or beating the snot out of gods with your bare fists. Sometimes it’s just something as simple as standing up for what’s right. You’re still S.H.I.E.L.D., aren’t you?”

            “Yeah, but—that’s not because I’m brave, that’s—”

            “You’ve met HYDRA agents, right?” Tony interrupted him. “Did they offer you the chance to join?”

            Fitz looked up, his eyes haunted. “Yeah,” he said in a small voice.

            Tony locked eyes with him. “What did you say?”

            “I said no,” Fitz said softly. “I told Garrett he was going to suffer for what he’d done, and I planned to be a very big part of that. But I was terrified. I didn’t know where Jemma was and I—I was terrified. I cried, I was so scared.”

            “But you looked a HYDRA agent in the eye and turned him down,” Tony said softly. “You were scared to death and you still said no. That’s bravery, kid. That’s _real_ bravery, not bravado. No wonder Phil Coulson wanted you on his team. He must be real proud of you.”

            Fitz’s face had an open, vulnerable look. “You really think so?”

            “I really do.” Tony smiled at the kid. “And I’ll tell you something. I’d have been scared in that situation, too.”

            “You? But—you’re a hero.”

            “Being a hero doesn’t mean you never get scared. Show me a hero who claims he’s fearless and I’ll show you a liar.” Tony set down his coffee cup. “A very wise man once told me that a hero is someone who’s scared out of his wits and does the right thing anyway.”

            “Who told you that?” Fitz asked.

            Tony pointed over his head. “Phil Coulson.”

            Before Fitz could respond, they both heard footsteps, and a moment later Simmons came into the room. “Good morning, sir,” she said to Tony with a smile.

            “Morning,” Tony said, returning the smile automatically. “Coffee? Sugar’s in the blue canister, creamer in the ‘fridge.”

            “Thank you, no, I can’t drink coffee,” Simmons replied.

            “Milk, then? Orange juice? Help yourself.”

            Simmons hesitated, then retrieved a glass out of the cupboard and poured herself a glass of orange juice. She looked up at Fitz and said softly, “Sleep okay?”

            “Eventually,” Fitz said, taking a hasty gulp of his coffee. Tony suppressed a smirk; it was pretty obvious the kid was smitten with her. “You?”

            “Mmm-hmm. It’s the first time in a long time I wasn’t worried about where we’d be when I woke up, anyway.” Simmons looked back at Tony. “Thank you for letting us stay here, sir.”

            “Yes, thank you, sir,” Fitz added, blushing slightly.

            “No problem. And knock off the ‘sir’ thing.” Tony was glad for the excuse to break out in an acceptable smile. “My friends call me Tony. People who put up with my continued existence for reasons best known to themselves call me Stark. Either one is fine.”

            Simmons’ eyebrows lifted. “Oh. Uh—okay.”

            They both looked flustered. Tony wasn’t sure why, except that maybe they weren’t used to “adults” (Fitz had told him the night before that they were both twenty-six, Simmons’ birthday being in September and his in November) telling them to call them by their first names. Or maybe, he realized, it was that he’d used the word _friends._ After all, they’d only just met.

            He was opening his mouth—maybe to reassure them, maybe to ask a question—when he heard the unmistakable sound of the front door opening. He turned sharply in that direction, tensing instantly. “Who’s there?” he called.

            There was a split-second’s pause, and then a voice said, “See, I told you he’d be down here if he was awake.”

            Tony sighed, relaxing. “Pepper, thank God. I’m in the kitchen, honey.”

            “ _Please_ tell me you have coffee on.” Pepper’s voice was getting closer.

            Fitz and Simmons hastily moved out of the way—a move that Tony couldn’t help but notice put them behind him slightly. Pepper entered the kitchen a minute later, her sandy blonde hair caught back in a ponytail and then pinned to her head. She wasn’t alone.

            “Hill…Romanoff,” Tony said, nodding to the other two women as they came in.

            “Stark.” Natasha returned the nod. She was smiling, but her eyes were anxious. “How’s Barton?”

            “Just fine. Still asleep, probably.”

            Behind him, Tony heard two audible sighs of relief. “Commander Hill, it’s good to see you again,” Simmons said.

            “Agent Simmons…Agent Fitz.” Hill nodded to them, but there was a slight flash in her eyes as she looked at Tony.

            Tony ignored her and said, “Fitz, Simmons, meet Pepper Potts, reluctant CEO of Stark Industries. And if you haven’t met her before, this is Agent Natasha Romanoff. Ladies, Agents Leo Fitz and Jemma Simmons.”

            Simmons’ eyes widened. “ _The_ Agent Romanoff? I—wow, it’s—it’s an honor to meet you.”

            “Nice to meet you, too.” Natasha grinned. “I guess you’re S.H.I.E.L.D.? What division?”

            “Technology and Sciences,” Simmons said. “I’m biochemistry, he’s engineering.”

            “Mmm, you two must get on like a house on fire then,” Natasha said, looking at Tony.

            “Yeah, he’s a good kid,” Tony replied. “By the way, saw your press conference. Nice work. That took some guts.”

            Natasha shrugged. “I just did what I had to.”

            Pepper was already fixing two cups of coffee as though she lived there—which, well, she kind of did. “Maria, no coffee for you, right?”

            “I’m wired enough, but thanks.”

            Tony grinned to diffuse any possible tension as Pepper handed Natasha one of the cups. “Hey, this is like a dream come true. Being surrounded by beautiful women who can kick my ass at a moment’s notice.”

            Hill actually smiled, folding her arms over her chest. “Don’t worry, Stark. Your ass is safe for now. There’s someone else we’re a little more interested in at the moment.”

            “Dare I ask?” Tony asked, raising an eyebrow.

            “Yeah, who are we more interested in?” Natasha put in.

            “Agent Grant Ward.” Hill turned to Natasha. “You’re going to love this one.”

            “What did Ward do now?”

            Tony jumped and turned to see May and Skye coming into the room. May had an expression on her face somewhere between annoyance and outright anger, and Tony was suddenly very thankful that he wasn’t Grant Ward. If the guy wasn’t HYDRA, he’d almost have pity for him.

            “Agent May, Agent Skye, good to see you both again,” Hill said with a nod.

            Natasha’s eyes widened. “Agent May? As in, Agent _Melinda_ May?”

            “The same.” May studied Natasha. “You’d be Agent Romanoff, then?”

            “I am.” Natasha held out her hand. “It’s—wow, I’m honored to meet you. Regret the circumstances, but…”

            “Likewise.” May almost smiled as she shook Natasha’s hand.

            “This is Pepper Potts,” Tony said, remembering that he was _technically_ the host here, even though this was very clearly not his party. “And this young lady is Agent Skye.”

            “Hi.” Skye managed a smile. She saw the coffee pot and started towards it, then hesitated. Tony nodded, waving for her to help herself.

            May ignored her, turning back to Hill. “What did Ward do now?” she repeated.

            Hill’s lips twisted in a wry smile. “He said that if Fury was going to pick ‘eye candy’ as his right-hand man, he could have at least picked you,” she said, looking at Natasha.

            “He said _what?_ ” May and Natasha said in unison.

            Tony gave a low whistle. “When you catch up with him, let me know. I’d like to watch you stomp him into a grease spot.”

            The oven _dinged_ behind him. He grabbed an oven mitt and took out the trays as Natasha said, “Who _is_ this guy, anyway?”

            “Grant Ward,” May said, her voice tight. “Former Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. and member of this team. Actually a member of HYDRA.”

            “Then I will take _extreme_ pleasure in kicking his ass.” There was steel in Natasha’s voice. “How’d you find out he was HYDRA?”

            “Skye did,” Simmons said.

            Skye swallowed, hard. “He, uh…he killed Agent Koenig. I saw him stuffed in the ceiling of a storage unit. And since everyone else was gone…it had to have been Ward. He…he wanted some information off a flash drive I’d encrypted, but the encryption code was tied to a location. I gave him a false location and stalled him as long as I could, but I finally had to come out in the open with the fact that I knew what he’d done and that I’d turned him in to law enforcement. He, um, he basically knocked me out and kidnapped me…” She swallowed again. “Anyway, that’s—that’s how I knew he was…evil.”

            “He’s _not_ evil,” Fitz protested, his voice cracking slightly.

            “Fitz,” Simmons hissed.

            “He’s not,” Fitz insisted. His eyes were bright and shiny. “He was—he’s our friend. He’s saved all our lives! He can’t be evil. I don’t believe anybody is _all_ evil.”

            “You’re right,” Tony said quietly, turning to look at the young man.

            He was aware of six pairs of surprised eyes on him, but he ignored them all, focusing on Fitz, who still looked to be on the verge of tears. “You’re right,” he said again. “Nobody is _all_ evil. And nobody is _all_ good. There’s light and darkness in everybody. Everyone has the potential for good or evil. And some people, they have almost all darkness in them and just one little spark of light, but it’s almost entirely smothered by the darkness. Some people it’s the opposite—they’re almost nothing but light, but they’ve got that one little bit of darkness, and they try to smother it with the light. And some people—most people—it’s a lot closer to middle of the road. They have more light than darkness, or more darkness than light, but one side is stronger than the other, just a little. Those people, they learn to mesh the elements together. They might have more light than darkness, but they use elements of the darkness to make the light stronger—they fight a little dirty or sometimes do things that look morally questionable, because in the end, it furthers the cause of justice or ensures other people are safe. Romanoff here is like that, Fury was like that. Banner does that every day and once I chose light over darkness I learned to do it, too. And then there are ones with more darkness than light, but they use elements of the light to make the darkness stronger—they sometimes do good things, or things that look good, because they believe that in the end they’ll get what they want, power or whatever. Obadiah Stone was like that—he really did care about me, up to a point, but when I got in his way, that was that. And Grant Ward is like that. He’s not wholly evil, you’re right.” He put his hands on Fitz’s shoulders, staring seriously into his eyes. “But he’s made his choice. He’s chosen the darkness. Maybe you can save him, maybe you can’t. But if you go into this thinking that you know the depths he won’t sink to, you’ll just get yourself seriously hurt. Because you _don’t_ know, kid. You don’t know how much darkness he has, or how strong it is. But he knows _exactly_ the kind of goodness that’s in you. And he _will_ use that light against you, if he can.”

            “I couldn’t have put it better myself.”

            Tony looked up. At some point during his impromptu speech, Phil, Clint, and Trip had come downstairs. Trip was standing just inside the kitchen, his arms folded in the same way Hill’s were; Phil and Clint stood just outside the doorway, not touching but no more than a molecule away from one another. Phil’s expression was somewhere between anger and sadness. Tony took a half-step back, letting go of Fitz’s shoulders with one hand but keeping the other in place.

            Hill’s expression radiated disapproval as she looked at him. “You know, I told you where Barton was so you would quit worrying, not so you would go and find him.”

            Phil glanced at her, a sarcastic half-smile tugging at his lips. “You really should have known better.”

            “Yeah,” Hill said, sighing. “I guess I should have.”

            Natasha’s face was white as a sheet, her eyes wide and round, her jaw hanging open slightly. “Phil?” she breathed.

            Phil’s smile was definitely less sarcastic when he turned to her. “Natasha. It’s good to see you again.” He turned to Pepper, who was also staring at him with her mouth hanging open. “You, too, Miss Potts.”

            “Pepper,” Pepper managed to get out.

            “But you—he—you!” Natasha turned to Tony, helplessly. “How long have you known he was—?” She gestured vaguely at Phil.

            Tony glanced at the clock on the wall. “About…ten hours, maybe?”

            “Nobody was supposed to know,” Phil admitted. “But since everything’s gone to hell in a hand basket…I couldn’t be this close and not come.”

            Natasha’s eyes fell on Clint, and her expression softened. “Clint.”

            “Tasha.” Clint didn’t smile, but he at least didn’t look openly hostile. “Glad you’re okay.”

            “Ditto. Sorry for not calling to check on you, but…it’s been kind of crazy lately.”

            “Gee, really? Hadn’t noticed,” Clint deadpanned.

            Tony squeezed Fitz’s shoulder lightly before letting go. “Now that everybody knows everybody else is here—by the way, good morning, Agent Triplett—who wants muffins? They should be edible.”

            Most of the tension in the room dissipated in the following ten minutes. Tony’s kitchen table wasn’t _that_ big, but it was big enough for Pepper, Natasha, Hill, and the four younger agents (Trip wasn’t much older than Fitz and Simmons, Skye wasn’t much younger) to sit comfortably. May stood by the door, leaning against it casually enough, but Tony could see that she was poised to spring at a moment’s notice. Clint sat on the counter next to the coffee pot, which was where he usually sat in the mornings; Phil leaned on the counter next to him, as though he just _happened_ to have chosen that position, no big deal, certainly not because he was reluctant to be more than six inches from the man he hadn’t seen in two years. Tony, for his part, was also perched on the counter, but on the other side of the room from Clint. The muffins had turned out well, and everyone but Hill and Simmons had a coffee mug in front of them. Clint had started a second pot, since they’d pretty well demolished the first.

            Tony wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “So, if you didn’t know Phil and his team were here, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit this morning?”

            Hill sighed, pushing aside the glass of milk Tony and Pepper had finally prevailed on her to accept. “I was hoping you’d be able to help us out. Skye here is good, but you’ve got access to resources she doesn’t.”

            Tony was on his feet instantly. “What do you need?”

            “Ideally, we— _I’d_ like to know what agents are left that I can trust. I don’t think there’s any way to show who’s HYDRA and who isn’t, except by connections, but—”

            “Disciplinary records,” Clint blurted.

            Hill looked up at him, raising her eyebrows. “I’m sorry?”

            “It’s just something I noticed,” Tony said, flashing Clint a brief half-smile. “Most of the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents who were confirmed HYDRA had spotless records. Not that a spotless record necessarily indicates HYDRA, just that agents who weren’t afraid to break a rule or two or be sarcastic to somebody in authority _aren’t._ ” He spread out his hands and raised an eyebrow, indicating that the entire room pretty much fell under that umbrella.

            Trip cracked a small smile. “Makes sense. It used to irritate me hearing Garrett talk about Ward’s _exemplary record._ ”

            Tony nodded. “It’s not foolproof, but it’s a start. Might take me a while to sort through all the records, though. You’ve got a lot of agents.”

            Hill smiled. “Like I started to say before, I wouldn’t expect you to be able to pull that kind of information out of thin air. But there were one or two things I was hoping you might be able to do fairly quickly.”

            “Just ask, Hill. I’ll do my best.” Even though she technically worked for him now, this wasn’t Stark Industries business, this was S.H.I.E.L.D. business. And with Fury dead, Maria Hill was in charge of S.H.I.E.L.D.

            “I haven’t heard from Victoria Hand in a couple of days,” Hill said quietly. “She was supposed to be escorting Garrett to lockup. I was wondering if you could help me track her down.”

            The room went absolutely still. Tony saw the flash of horror in both Phil and May’s eyes. “How was she escorting him? Train, plane, automobile?”

            “Plane,” Phil said softly. “It was her, two guards, and Ward—he said he felt so betrayed by what Garrett had done that he wanted to see him locked up personally. Like an idiot, I believed him.”

            “You’re not an idiot. This guy was good.” Tony picked up his coffee cup. “Specs on the plane?”

            “Just one of the regular S.H.I.E.L.D. transport planes.”

            “Which one?”

            “I don’t know,” Phil confessed.

            “BGC-3782,” Skye supplied.

            Hill stared at her in surprise. “How did you know that?”

            Skye shrugged, looking self-conscious. “I, uh, I noticed it when they left.”

            “Well, that’ll make it easier,” Tony said. “Shouldn’t take me more than ten minutes to find out where the plane’s camera feeds were sent. From there I’ll at least have a starting point on where to look for her, and you can get in touch with her from there.” He looked around the room. “It might not be the most exciting thing in the world, but anyone want to come watch?”

            He was a little surprised when everyone joined him, but then again, he shouldn’t have been. He knew Skye and Hill were going to come along, at least; Fitz, too, seemed interested. The others? He hadn’t really been expecting that. But then again, the team was a tight, cohesive unit. It was obvious that May and Phil both felt personally responsible for the younger agents’ safety and well-being. One of them was bound to go with each group. Why Simmons and Trip were interested, Tony couldn’t guess, but they seemed to be anyway. Natasha was clearly angry at Hydra, not that Tony blamed her in the least, and Pepper certainly wasn’t going to be left out.

            With the number Skye had given him, it actually took him no more than seven minutes to trace the camera feeds, and another four to tap into them. “Okay, here we go,” Tony said. “I need a date and time to start with. Let’s start with when they got on the plane, shall we?”

            Phil provided the information without hesitation. Tony, glancing over his shoulder, saw that the agent looked incredibly tense, a haunted look stealing into his eyes, as though the date and time he’d mentioned had brought back painful memories, which, well, it probably had. He nodded, then found the correct point in the recording and started it.

            Like most security feeds, the camera had no audio, only visual, but it was stunningly clear visual. A hatch opened and two men entered, frog-marching a third between them, an arrogant-looking man with a chiseled jaw and a sullen expression. Tony, studying the man, saw all the parts of his own personality that he didn’t particularly like. This, then, must have been Agent John Garrett. Tony thought back to what he’d said to Fitz about light and darkness and concluded that Garrett probably had a balance similar to Tony’s own; he’d just chosen to let the darkness take over.

            Behind him were two more agents. One was unmistakably Victoria Hand, lips pressed together in a thin line. The other was a youngish man, with dark hair, dark eyes, and a scratch on his forehead.

            “Is that Ward?” Natasha asked.

            “That’s him,” Hill confirmed.

            “He’s a good actor. I’d almost believe he really felt betrayed.”

            “His espionage scores were almost as good as yours.”

            “Yeah, well, I’m not exactly a shining example of humanity either,” Natasha muttered.

            “Least you’re not HYDRA,” Clint pointed out.

            “Shh,” Tony hissed, although he wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like they needed to hear anything on the tape.

            Not much happened for a while. Garrett and his bodyguards sat on one side of the plane; Ward sat opposite them, his face blank and expressionless. Hand stood off to one side, her arms folded, watching. Tony was just about to suggest fast-forwarding when Hand began to speak, the disdain in her eyes obvious.

            “Too bad there’s no audio,” May muttered.

            “Anyone know how to lip-read?” Tony asked, only somewhat sarcastically.

            Natasha leaned forward, frowning slightly. “—‘not sure it’s worth the time to transport you to the Freezer,’” she said.

            “ _Hand_ said that?” Trip demanded.

            “Shh,” Tony said again.

            Natasha continued. “‘What do you say, Agent Ward? You shot the wrong Clairvoyant. Would you like the opportunity to shoot the right one?’”

            “Oh, no,” Pepper whispered.

            Tony felt something hard and unpleasant drop into the pit of his stomach. Ward looked up at Hand, then slowly back at Garrett. Slowly, very slowly, he rose to his feet, drew his weapon. A slight smirk played about Hand’s lips. Ward raised his gun and pointed it at Garrett, his face still blank.

            And then, almost faster than they could blink, he shifted it to one of the guards and fired a round, then to the other guard and fired again. Hand’s smile disappeared instantly, her eyes widening. Ward brought the gun up to point it at her—and fired a third time.

            From behind Tony, Simmons gave a small scream, but he couldn’t look away, couldn’t do anything but stare as Ward dispassionately watched Hand’s body fall to the deck—then fired twice more in rapid succession, before ignoring her and turning to Garrett, on whose face a smile bloomed.

            Ward undid Garrett’s restraints and the two of them walked off towards the front of the plane, Garrett callously treading on Victoria Hand’s still-bleeding corpse as he passed it. All was still for a few moments. And then, abruptly, the feed dissolved into a burst of static.

            “No, wait,” Hill said, her voice tight with anger. “I know I said I wanted to know where Victoria was, but where the hell did they take this plane?”

            “I didn’t shut it off,” Tony said softly, still somewhat in shock. It wasn’t like he’d never seen people killed before—wasn’t even like he’d never witnessed someone murdered before—but that didn’t mean it didn’t stun him. “They must have cut the feeds.”

            He turned around and faltered. Pepper and Clint both looked horrified. Natasha, Hill, and May were all absolutely furious— _especially_ May. Simmons and Skye both had tears in their eyes. Trip was somewhere in between the three.

            But it was Phil and Fitz who caught Tony’s attention. Phil looked as though his brain had short-circuited. Tony wasn’t even sure he was breathing. He was white as a sheet, his mouth opened slightly, his brows meeting and his eyes wide, staring at the static as though still seeing Victoria Hand’s last moments.

            And Fitz…Fitz looked _crushed._ He looked even younger than usual, like a little boy who had just watched his father murder his mother. He was on the verge of completely falling apart.

            Tony felt something in his chest squeeze. At first he thought it was just sympathy for the kid. Then it intensified, and he recognized it for what it was.

            _Oh, no,_ he thought. _Not now. Not here. This is_ not _the time for this._

            He tried to concentrate on his breathing without making it obvious that was what he was doing. Sometimes, if he caught these things early enough, simply reminding himself to breathe made it better. But right now he was worrying about the others noticing, on top of what he’d seen on the screen, on _top_ of worrying about Fitz and Phil, and that really wasn’t helping, and it was just a spiral of _suck_ that laughed at his puny attempts to breathe.

            Simmons looked up. Despite his best efforts, there must have been something in his face, because her expression altered, just a little. “Si—Mr. Stark?”

            “Be with you in a second,” Tony managed to choke out, trying and failing to smile.

            “Top right drawer of your desk, sir,” J.A.R.V.I.S. chimed in helpfully.

            Everyone started at the voice. Tony didn’t think he could make it to the drawer in question very quickly; he started towards it, but faltered and had to catch himself against his chair.

            “Shit.” Clint suddenly sprang into action, yanked the drawer open, and pulled out a small, innocuous tube that looked like Chapstick. It was, in fact, an empty Chapstick tube that Tony had cleaned out and repurposed. Clint popped off the lid, shook a pill into his hand, and pressed it into Tony’s.

            Tony managed to get the pill into his mouth and dry-swallowed it—not his first choice by any means, but he knew better than to take it with coffee. Within a few moments the tightness in his chest had eased and he found breathing simpler. He looked up at Clint gratefully. “Thanks.”

            “No problem.”

            “What the hell just happened?” Pepper demanded.

            “Panic attack. I’m fine.” Tony took a deep breath, partly because he needed it and partly because it felt good to be _able_ to.

            “I thought you’d stopped having those!”

            Tony gestured to the computer screen. “I don’t usually watch stuff like that, either. By the way, J.A.R.V.I.S., thanks for reminding me about the pills.”

            “My pleasure, sir.”

            Simmons swallowed. “You—you have panic attacks?”

            “Yeah,” Tony answered, turning to look at the three youngest agents. Simmons and Skye still looked upset, but they had at least rejoined the real world. Fitz still looked as fragile as spun glass. “Hey, everybody’s got weaknesses, right? At least that’s one of mine I can actually _do_ something about.” He looked up and caught Pepper’s eye.

            They knew each other well enough that she understood immediately. “You guys look hungry. I know you didn’t eat enough. Come on, if you’re going on a mission you can’t do it on an empty stomach.” She crossed over to the youngest three agents and herded them out of the room, with Trip’s assistance.

            The room was silent for a minute or two. Finally, Hill said quietly, “Coulson.”

            Phil turned away from the blank screen at last to look at her. He still looked somewhat shell-shocked. Natasha met his eyes. “When you go after that son of a bitch, I’m going with you. And I am going to rip his balls off, assuming he has any, and make him _eat_ them.”

            “I’ll gladly help you with that,” May said grimly.

            “Coulson,” Hill said again, her expression dead serious. “You’re not seriously still planning to take your team after him, are you?”

            “I have to,” Phil said, although his voice quavered as he said it.

            Tony understood what Hill was actually saying, as well as what Phil was saying. “Reiterating my offer from last night. I’ve got the room, you guys can stay here as long as you like. Or, you know, you and the three of them—” he jerked a thumb at Hill, Natasha, and May—“could go after this guy, and the kids could stay here.”

            For a minute, Tony could see that Phil was sorely tempted. He hesitated, glancing at the door, then looked back at Tony. “I—I can’t leave them behind.”

            “So don’t,” Natasha interjected. “Stay here with them. Let us take care of it.”

            “I can’t do that, Natasha. You know me better than that.”

            “Phil, except for Trip, none of them have the slightest idea what going after Ward would entail,” May said. “Skye’s not short of bravery, I’ll give her that, but if it comes down to it, she won’t do what needs to be done. Simmons isn’t combat-ready, and Fitz is having a hard enough time with all of this as it is. He’s the most vulnerable right now. I don’t know if Ward would hesitate to use him against us.”

            Tony could see the indecision in Phil’s eyes—something he’d never seen before. Phil Coulson always knew exactly what to do in any situation. “Why not ask them?” he suggested. “Give ‘em a choice. If they think they can handle it, great. If not, I can always use the help with my tinkering. Or they could help me sift through the S.H.I.E.L.D. files, or something.”

            “The trouble is, not one of them would choose to stay,” May told him. “Well, Fitz might, but not if Simmons doesn’t. And she wouldn’t. They all think they’re ready, and they want to prove themselves.”

            “They don’t need to do that,” Phil said quietly. “They’ve proven themselves over and over again.”

            “But _they_ think they do. They don’t want you to regret choosing them. They don’t want to think they’ve let you down.” May shook her head. “There’s just no way of getting them to stay without you staying, too.”

            “And that’s something you’d never be able to do.” Clint spoke for the first time.

            “Even if it would mean their deaths?” Hill pointed to the screen. “Did that look like a man who gives a damn about anyone else’s life? He thinks he owes Garrett something. If Garrett told him to put a bullet in your brain, he’d do it without thinking.”

            May nodded. “The only one he might hesitate to kill—and I mean _might_ —is Skye.”

            Tony wanted to tell them both to shut up, especially when he saw Clint valiantly trying to keep his face straight, but he knew he couldn’t. They were right, after all. Phil was on a vendetta, that much was clear. And yeah, Ward needed to be taken out. Tony wouldn’t mind doing that himself, but it wasn’t his fight. It was Phil’s. Phil had trusted this guy, and the guy had betrayed him, had betrayed his entire team. He deserved to be the one to take him out. But the point was that if he took his whole team with him, they were going to get seriously hurt, maybe killed.

            “There has to be an alternative,” Phil said faintly.

            “So far, the choices seem to be, one, all of you stay; two, the kids stay and the rest of you go; three, you and the kids stay and the three of them go; four, all of you go; or five, all of _us_ go,” Tony said, ticking off the options on his fingers. “Of those options, the first one will let that son of a bitch get away, and the last two will probably get a lot of you hurt, maybe even killed.”

            “There _is_ one other alternative,” Hill said, reluctantly. “Natasha and I could stay behind, try and help figure out who to trust and who not to trust, while you and your team go after Ward. But, Coulson, that’s _incredibly_ dangerous. _Especially_ since Fitz clearly doesn’t want to believe just how evil Ward really is.”

            Phil hesitated again. Finally, he said softly, “Let’s face it, all of those options suck. But…no offense, Tony, but right now I’d kind of like to keep an eye on my team. And I have to take out Ward. I trusted him, I let him…” He swallowed hard. “He’s my responsibility.”

            May smiled without any humor in it. “Besides, he’s still got our Bus.”

            Tony sighed. “At least let me pack you a lunch or something.”

* * *

            Clint didn’t say anything as they—finally—left Tony’s computer lab an hour later. He had stayed in the background as the others discussed logistics before breaking up to go talk with the younger agents. But as the others headed downstairs, Phil hung back.

            He turned and studied Clint, an expression of incredible sadness on his face. “Clint…” he began.

            Clint didn’t let him finish. He threw his arms around Phil’s neck, pulled his head close, and kissed him, deeply and passionately. Phil kissed him back, wrapping his arms around Clint’s waist.

            At last Clint broke the kiss and leaned his head on Phil’s shoulder. “I don’t want to let you go,” he whispered.

            “I wouldn’t go if I didn’t feel like I had to,” Phil whispered back. “You know that, sweetheart. I have to do this.”

            “I know.” And Clint did know—he knew better than anyone. “I just…damn it all, Phil, you’d better fucking be careful, you hear me? You’d better be careful and you’d better come back to me.”

            Phil tightened his arms around Clint. “I will. I swear I will. It doesn’t matter what I have to do, I will _always_ come back to you. _Always._ ”

            “You’d better.” Clint looked up. “I love you, Phil.”

            “I love you, too.”

            For a second Clint thought Phil was about to kiss him, but instead he just held him. Finally, reluctantly, he drew back. “We should…really get downstairs,” he faltered. “Before, you know, before the team starts panicking.”

            “Yeah,” Clint said softly.

            They descended to the main floor and found the others in the living room. Hill and May stood by one wall, keeping an unobtrusive eye on the windows and doors and not saying anything. Pepper and Natasha were talking to Simmons; the young woman looked shy, but the older two were obviously encouraging her to talk about herself and her experiences. Tony was engaging Skye and Fitz in conversation, Trip leaning over the back of the sofa, either listening or being his own bodyguard, Clint wasn’t quite sure.

            Phil hesitated just outside the doorway, his expression softening as he surveyed the scene. If it weren’t for the tension in Hill’s posture, the thin white line of May’s lips, the hollowness of Fitz’s cheeks or the red-rimmed state of Simmons’ eyes, it could almost have been a cozy family gathering. It wasn’t peaceful, but it was safe.

            “Maybe I _should_ stay here for a day or two,” he murmured to Clint, barely audible. “Give them time to recover.”

            Oh, how badly Clint wanted to encourage him. But he forced himself to say, “You’d never be able to forgive yourself if you didn’t go after him right away.”

            “I know.” Phil’s voice was heavy with regret. “I already feel guilty about having waited this long.”

            He entered the living room. Conversation stopped as everyone turned to look at him. Clint leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, watching as Phil moved towards the center of the room.

            “What do we do now, sir?” Simmons asked.

            Phil scanned the room. “Ward has to be stopped. Other than Garrett, we know him better than anybody. I believe we can get him.”

            “I believe we can, too,” Skye said, her voice quiet but determined.

            “Besides—” Phil caught Tony’s eye—“I want my plane back.”

            Clint couldn’t help but crack a smile. He knew that Phil wasn’t much for material possessions—nothing he owned was worth more than the lives of his friends, or his team. That morning while they’d showered together, Phil had told him about the fate of his vintage Captain America cards, the ones Fury had taken from his locker and basically dipped in his blood in order to inspire the Avengers to fight. He had pretended annoyance, but truthfully, he hadn’t cared, because his ruined cards had indirectly saved millions, perhaps billions, of lives. But Phil had a dark sense of humor, always had. Besides, focusing on the Bus might help Fitz from panicking about the fact that they were hunting down someone he’d believed to be his friend.

            “One question,” Trip said, straightening up. “How are we gonna get to him? Because if I’m not mistaken, that car of yours only fits two people, and it’s kind of limping.”

            “You’re taking B.E.C.K.A.,” Tony told him. “She’s armored, flight-capable, and armed. And, by the way, she’s a hybrid, so you shouldn’t have to stop for gas too often.”

            “What about Lola?” Skye asked.

            Tony shrugged. “My dad built her. I still have the repair manual somewhere. While you guys are gone, I’ll fix everything, good as new.” He hesitated, glancing first at Phil, then at Clint, before adding nonchalantly, “If any of you wanted to stick around and help, that’d be fine, but I understand if you’d rather stay with your team.”

            Clint held his breath, hoping that Fitz at least might take Tony up on the offer, but although he looked briefly at Simmons, she was still looking unflinchingly at Phil, and none of the agents spoke. Phil nodded. “We leave in twenty minutes.”

            The other agents headed off towards the stairs, presumably to collect their things. Hill waited until they were gone, then looked at Phil with something between disapproval and resignation. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Phil.”

            “Yeah,” Phil said softly. “Me, too.”

            Natasha stood up, looking at him seriously. “I’m still not happy about staying back.”

            “I know. But I’d rather have you in reserve, just in case we need backup. Not knowing who else we can trust…” Phil trailed off.

            “I know,” Natasha said. “Still doesn’t make me happy.”

            Tony joined the small group. “Just so you know, Phil—there are six preset buttons for radio stations in B.E.C.K.A., and if you press one twice it’ll give you a different station, so there are twelve presets altogether. P-11 is actually J.A.R.V.I.S., though, and P-12 is a direct line to here. So if you need help…”

            “I’ll call,” Phil promised.

            Natasha sighed. “I feel a little better, which is a relative statement not to be taken as approval.”

            “Your objection is duly noted.”

            Clint at last left the shelter of his doorway, coming closer. He knew that Phil had never said anything about him to his team—they all believed that Phil was devoted to the cellist in Portland—but this small group, they all knew about the two of them. “I know I’ve said this a lot, Phil, but _please_ be careful. I’ve only just got you back. I can’t lose you again.”

            Phil’s expression softened. He slipped his hand into Clint’s and squeezed it lightly. “I will be. I promise. And I promise I’ll call if we need help.”

            He let go of Clint’s hand at the sound of approaching footsteps and turned. May came back in, a black bag slung over her shoulder. “I still think Fitz ought to stay here.”

            “For what it’s worth, I agree with you,” Phil said. “But I can’t very well tell him to stay without telling everyone else to stay, too. And at this point…”

            “I know. I still don’t like it.”

            Tony smirked. “Face it, Phil, nobody’s particularly pleased with this plan.”

            “Including me,” Phil pointed out. “But it’s the best I could come up with on short notice.”

            It took no more than fifteen minutes for Phil’s team to reassemble in the living room. Phil looked around at the assembled group, locking eyes with each one. “Last chance to back out,” he warned. “This is going to be dangerous—I can’t ask any of you to risk more than you already have.”

            Again, Clint thought Fitz was going to stay behind. But then Simmons said in a quiet but determined voice, “He’s betrayed all of us, sir, and I for one am not going to stand by and let him think he’s getting away with it.”

            Fitz’s shoulders sagged slightly, and Clint winced inwardly. The kid was devoted to Simmons, and scared or not, if she went, he’d follow. Phil looked at Fitz for a long minute, but when the young man didn’t speak, he simply said quietly, “All right. Let’s go.”

            Clint stood aside to let the group pass him into the garage. He tried to stay stoic and calm, tried not to show his emotions, but the only way he could think of to do that was to bite his tongue. If he said anything, for sure he’d say too much. Anyway, what could he say that he hadn’t already said?

            Phil passed him without a word, then hesitated and looked back. His eyes locked onto Clint’s, and in them, Clint read a reflection of his own emotions—love, sorrow, fear. In two steps he crossed back to the doorway, took Clint into his arms, and kissed him.

            Clint stopped caring about whether or not the rest of Phil’s team was watching, about how much they knew, about what they would think. He closed his eyes and returned the kiss, gripping the front of Phil’s suit jacket like a lifeline. If this was their last chance, he was going to make it count.

            At last, reluctantly, he pulled back and looked up into Phil’s eyes—they were about the same height, but Phil was wearing his shoes and Clint was barefoot. “I’ll miss you,” he said quietly. “Promise me you’ll come back soon?”

            Phil smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling upwards even as tears began to form. “I wouldn’t dream of keeping you waiting.”

            He kissed Clint again, briefly but tenderly, and then let him go, turning back to the garage. The rest of the team had frozen in the process of getting into B.E.C.K.A., staring at them in obvious surprise.

            “Well? What are you waiting for? We’ve got a mission to complete,” Phil said, as though he hadn’t done anything unusual. Well, he _hadn’t._

            Clint stayed where he was, watching as the S.U.V. pulled out of the garage and down the long driveway. When he could no longer see the vehicle on the horizon, he felt a hand on his shoulder, sturdy and comforting.

            “He’ll be all right,” Tony said gruffly. “They all will.”

            Clint sighed deeply, knowing that, for good or ill, it was out of his hands now. “I sure as hell hope so.”


End file.
